


50 Reasons for a Romp Between the Sheets

by AbegaylTanner



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 50 Reasons, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Frottage, M/M, Sleepless nights, Small bit of John/Mary, bottom!John, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:07:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AbegaylTanner/pseuds/AbegaylTanner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"50 Reasons to have sex" Johnlock-centric.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Because you can’t get to sleep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mistyzeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fifty Good Reasons](https://archiveofourown.org/works/360811) by [mistyzeo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistyzeo/pseuds/mistyzeo). 



> Tags will be added with updates.
> 
> Inspired by and gifted to mistyzeo for "50 Good Reasons". I hope this is at least half as good.

Sherlock stared at the ceiling of their sitting room, tracing the cracks with his eyes. Another sleepless night. It wasn't as though he hadn't tried. He had tried every trick he could think of but his body, his _transport_ , refused to acquiesce. John had retired five hours earlier, but Sherlock could still hear the subtle creaks that spoke of his restlessness. He considered climbing the stairs to John’s bedroom as he had done so many times before, but during those late night visits, John had always been deep into his REM cycle and Sherlock was more than sure it was a bit not good to watch his flat mate sleep.

He shifted a bit, his head turning towards the sitting room door as he heard the creak of John’s bedroom door and the stairs as the man descended them. He paused just inside the sitting room, eyes trained on Sherlock sprawled across the couch, eyes wide open but slightly unfocused. 

“Trouble sleeping?” he asked and Sherlock grunted.

“Obvious.”

“Tea?”

“If you’re making it.”

John rolled his eyes and moved into the kitchen. Sherlock listened as the other man bustled about making them each a cuppa, his eyes trained on the opened doors of the kitchen that kept John just out of view. When John appeared in the doorway with two cups in hand, Sherlock shifted into a seated position, his legs sprawled out in front of him and his feet coming to rest beneath the coffee table. John stepped over his legs and took a seat on the couch beside him. 

This had been happening more and more lately, the line separating friendship and something more blurring as time passed. Sherlock accepted the cup, his fingers brushing against John’s palm as the cup passed between their hands. John said nothing, didn't even startle at the contact, and when Sherlock looked up at his face, John had a rare, soft smile playing about his lips. Something else that had subtly shifted in their relationship. John more frequently wore a soft, fond expression when Sherlock did something; even the ‘bit not good’ things he did (sometimes on purpose, sometimes unintentional).

John leaned back, his body sliding a bit until his shoulder pressed into Sherlock’s. They settled that way, surrounded by darkness side-by-side on the sofa as they sipped their tea. _Chamomile_ , Sherlock noted, _meant to help relax the body and mind_.

John finished his tea first, leaning forward to set the cup on the coffee table, and when he leaned back again, his shoulder pressed back into Sherlock’s rather than resting beside it. Sherlock shifted hesitantly, his arm twisting until it rested along John’s shoulders and his hand pressed against John’s far side. John sighed and settled into the new position, his head resting on Sherlock’s shoulder as though it belonged there.

Sherlock turned his head slightly, his nose brushing into John’s slightly grayed golden locks. He pressed his lips to John’s scalp, a barely there brush that he wasn't sure if he wanted John to acknowledge or not. John turned slightly, his hair tickling Sherlock’s nose as he pressed his face into Sherlock’s neck. His lips brushed the skin there and Sherlock was positive he could feel his increased heartbeat. 

“John?” he breathed and the shorter man was pulling back to look up into his eyes. His face was open, easy to read as always, and Sherlock’s breath caught at what he saw there. An easy affection, tenderness he had never known before from anyone other than his mother. He tilted his head forward, giving John time to turn away, to put a stop to this last step that would shift their relationship into the land of something more. There would be no going back if they allowed this to happen; Sherlock couldn't possibly go back to being just friends, just flat mates. It would kill him.

“Sherlock,” John breathed and Sherlock could feel it against his lips and then they were kissing, tentative brushes of lips as they shifted into a better position. John hummed a little, letting his pleasure be known as he pressed his lips more firmly against Sherlock’s. A soft, low moan escaped Sherlock and John took advantage of it to slip his tongue in to tease along Sherlock’s. He shifted further and suddenly John was straddling Sherlock’s waist, the empty tea cup dropped to the floor as Sherlock’s hands moved to John’s hips to hold him firmly in place as their mouths danced in a blissful rhythm of give and take.

John shifted a bit, his growing interest pressing into Sherlock’s abdomen and the detective shifted so his own pajama covered erection pressed alongside John’s and they both moaned at the touch. John’s hips rocked, pushing against Sherlock’s at a slowly increasing pace as they moved together. Sherlock allowed his body to slide to the side, pulling John down over him as they re-situated themselves. John lay sprawled over Sherlock, their hips rocking together as Sherlock’s fingers gripped John’s hips and John’s sunk into Sherlock’s curls. He twisted his head to deepen the kiss and the next thrust had Sherlock throwing his head back, his eyes squeezed tight as his breathing hitched and he thrust up into John with abandon. 

“John,” Sherlock moaned as his hips stuttered and he came with a cut off cry. John thrust hard against Sherlock’s cum-soaked-cloth-covered abdomen a few more times before his hips jerked and halted as he came, his face pressed into Sherlock’s neck to muffle his cries. They lay together, gasping for breath with their arms wrapped tight around each other.

“John?” Sherlock pushed gently against John’s shoulders to get the man to raise his head enough for eye contact.

John leaned back and looked down at Sherlock, his eyes bright with happiness. “Please tell me that wasn't a one-off,” he asked, his tone hopeful.

Sherlock chuckled, his eyes crinkling as he smiled his John only smile. He wrapped his arms around John once more and pulled him tight to his chest. He pressed his nose into John’s hair, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and sweat and sex. “I could never go back to where we were, John. You are very much an essential part of me.”

John sighed, his body sagging with relaxed contentment. They lay in silence until sleep finally overtook them. They woke with a start to the sound of a tea tray crashing to the ground. They turned as one to stare in wide-eyed shock at Mrs. Hudson who stood in the doorway with her hands over her mouth and her eyes wide with happy tears brimming over. 

“Oh, finally,” she gushed before turning and closing the door behind her.

John chuckled as he pressed his reddened face into Sherlock’s neck. He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s pulse point before pulling back to look down at him. “I think we should get cleaned up then go out for breakfast.”

“Yes,” Sherlock smiled as he ran his hands up John’s back and pulled him down for a quick kiss. “I am a bit peckish.”

They laughed as they stood from the couch, faces crinkling in distaste at their cum-stiffened clothing, and made their way to the loo for a quick wash-up before heading out. There was nothing on today, but they’d find some way to keep Sherlock from getting bored. Their options had been vastly increased.


	2. Celebrating Not Being Pregnant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that I won't post these in order. I've gotten a few written already, but I'm having trouble with 2) Make-up Sex and 3) Break-up Sex, so I'm going to post the ones I have written like once a week in random order. Enjoy!

“You can’t leave me, John. What about the baby?”

John turned to stare at Mary with wide eyes. “Baby? What baby?”

Mary dropped her hand to rub gently across her flat abdomen. “We’re going to have a baby.”

John stared at her abdomen, eyes wide in horror. “You can’t be serious.”

“Well, I don’t actually know for sure yet, but I’m late, John. You know I’m never late.”

“How late?”

“Two weeks.”

John dropped to the bed, his elbows on his knees and his face buried in his hands. “Oh, God.”

***

“Well?” Sherlock asked as John entered their flat. This was one answer he didn’t want to deduce. He was terrified John would be staying with Mary; scared to death of losing him to the one thing he would never be able to give his blogger.

“It was a false positive,” John breathed, his eyes moist as he looked up at his best friend. “She’s not pregnant.”

Sherlock was on him in an instant, his mouth devouring John’s lips and tongue in a passion filled kiss. “God, John,” he breathed as he pulled back to trace his lips along the shorter man’s jaw. He nipped at John’s earlobe before tracing the vein along his neck to his clavicle, John’s breathy moans spurring him on.

“Yes,” John breathed. “Sherlock, please.”

“Bedroom,” Sherlock growled as he herded John through the sitting room and kitchen and into his own bedroom. Theirs, now that Mary wasn’t pregnant and John was free to be his. They fell to the bed together, giggling at the tangled mass of limbs that prevented their disrobing. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“Me too, Sherlock. Christ, what you do to me,” John’s voice was breathy with desire, his achingly hard cock straining against the zipper of his jeans as Sherlock wrestled with his jumper and button-up. They giggled more, their breaths coming in panting laughs as they struggled to undress themselves and each other simultaneously. Finally Sherlock pulled back with a growl of frustration and kicked his trousers from his legs as he whipped his shirt off the only arm holding it to his body. John had sat up and pulled his vest off as Sherlock’s hands moved down to his waist to push and tug at his jeans. John lay back and lifted his hips and Sherlock jerked the jeans down and away leaving them both in only their pants.

“Have you?” John asked and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“Do you really expect me to have made it to my late thirties without experimenting in the baser human requirements?”

John let out a breathy laugh as he wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and carded his fingers through the loose curls at his nape. “You could have just said yes, you prat.”

Sherlock chuckled, his body shaking slightly with it as he trailed his fingers over John’s bared chest, counting his ribs subconsciously. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asked as he ground his hips down into John eliciting a moan from both men.

“How do you want me?” John asked and Sherlock pulled back to stare down at him in surprise. “What?”

“John, you… I thought you’d want me,” he murmured, his surprise giving way to pleasured wonder as his eyes traced over John’s face.

“Don’t get me wrong, Sherlock. We’re doing that too, but right now, I want you in me. Make me yours, Sherlock.”

“God, yes,” Sherlock groaned as his eyes slid half shut and he stared down at John with a fiery passion. He slid down John’s body, his lips trailing after his fingertips as he went. When he arrived at the waistband of John’s pants, he spent a few minutes tracing along the cloth with his tongue, teasing it under the band just a bit as he nipped and kissed from hip to hip. John squirmed and moaned under the ministrations and Sherlock made quick work of removing the interfering garment. John’s hips bucked as Sherlock lathed his flattened tongue along the underside of his stiff prick, his moan loud in the otherwise silent flat. Sherlock moved his hands to John’s hips and pressed them back into the mattress as he slid the tip of his tongue along the slit at the tip of John’s prick before circling the head and teasing the glans.

“Sherlock, please,” John groaned as his fingers slid into Sherlock’s curls and tugged none-to-gently. Sherlock let out a moan as his lips left John’s cock with a dirty sounding pop and he moved back up John’s body in much the same way he’d descended. He pressed his lips to John’s jaw as his arm reached out to the night stand and jerked open the drawer. He dug around blindly until his fingers wrapped around the bottle of lube he’d kept secreted away. 

Finger slicked with the lube, Sherlock made his way down John’s body once more, teasing his entrance with the tips of his fingers as he bit and sucked a love mark into the skin at John’s left hip. John moaned and shifted beneath him, legs spreading more to allow Sherlock easier access. Sherlock continued to tease his fluttering hole until it accepted the tip of the first finger and he paused to let John become accustomed to the intrusion. John had never been with a man before and Sherlock wanted it to be perfect. He waited until John’s hips began to rock gently before pushing further in, keeping his thrusts shallow for a bit before inching forward until his first finger was in as far as it could go. He fucked John with one finger until John was whining and begging for more.

Sherlock took his time preparing John, making his way slowly up to three fingers. He brushed over John’s prostate at sporadic intervals, keeping it from becoming a pattern the other man could follow. Once John was fully prepared, Sherlock pulled his fingers free, smiling down at John’s whine of protest. He slicked his prick liberally, wanting it to be as easy as possible for this amazing man. He lined the tip of his cock up with John’s entrance and teased it a bit, brushing the tip over John’s entrance a few times before pressing in. John moaned as Sherlock breached him, wrapping his legs around the taller man’s waist so he could pull him in further. Sherlock stiffened his spine to stop the forced entrance. He wanted as little pain as possible, but John was insistent and Sherlock was fully seated much sooner than he’d intended.

“God, John,” he breathed, his eyes rolling back as he stilled his hips to allow John’s body to relax. “So tight.”

“Move, Sherlock,” John grunted as he shifted his hips, his arms wrapped tight around the other man and his fingers splayed along his back. He pulled Sherlock closer and kissed him desperately as he began to move in shallow thrusts, brushing over John’s prostate on every other thrust. John let out a long, low moan as Sherlock’s speed increased and soon they were moving together in perfect synch. “Close, Sherlock,” John grunted.

Sherlock shifted above him, his rhythm faltering for a moment as he moved one hand between them to wrap around John’s prick. John groaned, his hips bucking as Sherlock fucked him and he fucked Sherlock’s hand. “Yes,” Sherlock breathed as his hips began to jerk haphazardly and he lost himself to the orgasm that washed over him. He was vaguely aware of John reaching his own peak as his rectal muscles contracted and squeezed Sherlock’s cock, milking the last bit of seed from him. 

They collapsed in a heap, Sherlock contorting his body until he could tuck his head beneath John’s chin and place gentle, loving kisses to the pulse point throbbing there. “I love you,” he breathed out and they both froze. It hadn’t been intentional. Neither had said those words yet, though they’d both acknowledged the shift in their relationship when Sherlock had returned from his time Away.

John shifted beneath him, wrapping both arms around him and pulling him tightly into his body. “I love you, too, idiot,” he breathed into Sherlock ear and then they were kissing again, less desire fueled, but no less filled with passion.


	3. Make-up Sex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by "Who I am With You" by Christ Young

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. This was supposed to be up yesterday. Forgive me!

It took John a moment to register what exactly had woken him. The opening strands to a song he hadn’t heard since he was in Afghanistan sharing near-beer with some American soldiers and laughing over stories from home seemed to be on repeat, but something wasn’t quite right. He lay in his bed, ears trained on the sound floating up the stairs to his bedroom door, which had somehow come open in the middle of the night ( _Sherlock_ ). After the third repeat of the same strands, it finally hit him. The song was American country music, but it was being played on the violin.

He rolled out of bed, pulling his pajama bottoms over his pants as he stood. He grabbed his robe from the back of the door and swung it over his shoulders as he slipped through into the hall. He tied it closed, staving off the chill air as best he could. Sherlock stood in front of the window, his lean figure outlined by the streetlamps in the otherwise dark room. John moved to his chair and sat, waiting to see if he knew more than that first bit. It had been a long time since he’d heard that song.

Sherlock let the strands die out and began the song again, flowing past the opening lines and into the first verse. What surprised John the most was that Sherlock began to sing. He had taken the time to learn how to play this song on violin and the lyrics.

**I've been a rolling stone all my life**  
 **Flying all alone, flying blind**  
 **I've seen it all, I've been around**  
 **I've been lost and I've been found but**

**Who I am with you is who I really want to be**  
 **You're so good for me**  
 **And when I'm holdin' you, it feels like I've got the world in my hands**  
 **Yeah, a better man is who I am with you**

John was entranced, his eyes resting on Sherlock as he swayed to the music, his voice and the violin rising and ebbing in perfect synch. His voice was just the right side of gruff, steady and bone-meltingly gorgeous. John couldn’t get enough.

**I've got a ways to go on this ride**  
 **But I got a hand to hold that fits just right**  
 **You make me laugh, you make me high,**  
 **You make me want to hold on tight, 'cause**

**Who I am with you is who I really want to be**  
 **You're so good for me**  
 **And when I'm holdin' you, it feels like I've got the world in my hands**  
 **Yeah, a better man is who I am with you**

When Sherlock finished the piece, violin and bow dropping to his sides, he turned back to the room. John hadn’t moved a muscle. He sat in his chair, back ramrod straight as he took in his flat mate.

“If you ever leave me behind like that again, Sherlock, I swear I’ll leave.”

“I am sorry, John. I got caught up in the case, I just…”

John held up a hand, silencing the other man. “I know, Sherlock, but if we’re going to work, whether as colleagues, as flat mates, as partners in every sense of the word, you need to think about me, too. I know how you are on a case, Lock. I knew it the first time I kissed you; knew exactly what I was getting myself into. I love you, Lock. I really do, but I can’t handle being left behind while you go gallivanting off to… I don’t know where with no protection, no backup…” he raised his hand again, cutting off Sherlock’s interruption. “And I realize you don’t need protection, but... God, Sherlock, I’ve lost you once. Spent two years without you, nearly married an assassin, and went through hell only to find myself where I always wanted to be, but never thought I was good enough. I can’t… no, I _won’t_ lose you again, Sherlock.”

Sherlock placed his violin and bow down with great care before he moved across the room. He stopped in front of John and dropped to his knees, pushing John’s open so he could fit between his thighs. His hands smoothed across John’s pajamas, up his sides and around the back of his shoulders. He pulled John to him, holding tight as his body shook with the pent up fear. “Please don’t leave me,” he breathed into John’s neck.

“Who said anything about leaving, Lock? If anyone should be scared of being left, it’s me. I could lose you at any moment.”

“I will never leave you again,” Sherlock pulled back, his eyes fierce as they locked with John’s. “I love you. I know I don’t say it nearly enough, but you are _everything_ to me, John.”

John let out a soft sigh, his eyes closing to block back the tears that threatened to spill. “I love you,” he whispered, leaning forward to press his lips to Sherlock’s. The kiss was tender, intimate, nothing like they usually were. John’s hands slid up Sherlock’s arms, grazing the pale skin of his neck before his fingers tangled in his dark curls. “Lock,” he growled as he pushed back enough to stand. “Bed.”

Sherlock scrambled to his feet and grasped John’s hand, tugging him along behind as he led the way up the stairs to the second bedroom; the one John had been sleeping in for two nights. He stopped just outside the door, turning to let John enter first. It was still his domain, his personal space. 

John smiled up at him before pushing the door open and dragging Sherlock inside. He closed the door behind them and turned to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders. “I love you,” he said again before pulling the detective down into a kiss just as slow and passionate as the one they’d shared downstairs. His fingers trailed along Sherlock’s trim body, plucking buttons open as they went and soon he had Sherlock’s pale blue button up tossed to the floor somewhere beside them. 

Sherlock reached out, his fingers toying with the hem of John’s robe as he kissed along his jaw and nipped his earlobe. “I love you, John,” he breathed before stepping back to untie the robe and let it fall from his lovers’ body. He trailed his fingertips along the toned, golden skin displayed, reverently tracing the scar that brought them together all those years ago. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he looked up, meeting John’s eyes. “Marry me?”

John’s breath caught in his throat, his hands quivering slightly as they slid from Sherlock’s hair onto his shoulders and then down along his sides to rest on his hips. “You have to mean that, Sherlock. You have to really mean that.”

“I do, John. You are an essential part of me. I want you by my side for the rest of our lives,” he cupped John’s face, running his thumb over his cheek. “Marry me?” he asked again.

John smiled up at him, his fingers slipping into the belt loops of Sherlock’s pants. “Course I will, you daft git.”

Sherlock was quick to move them to the bed, stripping John of his pajamas and pants as they went. He explored the body he already knew so well with fingers, lips and tongue. He would never get enough of John. He looked up at the man who meant more to him than anything in the world, a question dying on his lips as John stretched to the side. 

John straightened up again, the bottle of lube from the night stand in his hands and a wide grin on his face. He handed Sherlock the lube and lay back, spreading his thighs to cradle the mad man he was madly in love with. “I want you, Lock. I _need_ you.”

Sherlock wasted no time, he knelt back and stripped himself of his trousers and pants before stretching out over John and pressing their hips together. His breath left in a rush at the sparks of pleasure that arced up his spine. John moaned beneath him, his arms and legs wrapping around Sherlock’s body to pull him closer. They kissed, slow and sweet, as they rubbed against each other. 

Sherlock pulled back, reaching for the bottle of lube he’d let fall to the side of John moments ago. He squeezed some onto his fingers, rubbing it around to warm it before trailing his fingers along John’s prick, across his scrotum and perineum. He came to a stop at John’s hole, fingers teasing the puckering entrance. 

“Lock,” John whined, flexing his fingers in the other man’s shoulders. “ _Please_.”

Sherlock let out a soft chuckle, slipping the tip of a finger in and teasing the rim. He worked John open slowly, teasing him and bringing him to the edge over and over again. He ghosted his lips and tongue along John’s inner thighs, the fingers of his other hand brushing feather light touches along John’s scrotum and shaft as he worked a second and then third finger into him.

“Now, Lock,” John growled, gripping Sherlock’s shoulders and pulling him up to kiss him. “ _Now_.”

Sherlock leaned back to grab the lube once more, slicking himself before letting it fall off the side of the bed. He lined his cock up with John’s twitching hole, eyes trained on John’s face as he slowly pushed in. He shifted his hips back and forth, working himself deeper with each thrust. John’s face was open, the pleasure and love easy to read. 

Sherlock let out a breath as he stilled, fully sheathed within the wonderful man beneath him. As much as he wanted to take John, thrust hard and fast until neither could hold back any longer, he wanted it to be perfect. John had just agreed to marry him. He pulled back until just the head of his prick remained inside John and thrust forward, taking up a slow and steady rhythm as he adjusted himself until he found his mark. John’s back arched off the bed, his head and shoulders digging into the pillows as a long, low moan escaped his wide-open mouth.

“Lock, God. Yes. More,” he rumbled, fisting the sheets beneath him. 

Sherlock picked up the pace, just enough to keep John on that razor sharp edge he was riding. He wasn’t ready for this to be finished just yet. “John,” the name left his lips in a rush of breath, his fingers curling into the pillow by John’s head. “I love you.”

“Yes, Lock. God, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop,” John groaned, his hips raising to meet Sherlock’s every thrust. “Almost... almost there, Lock. Please.”

Sherlock shifted a bit, bringing one hand down between them to fist John’s prick as he sped up his thrusts. A few steady pumps and John was arching off the bed, his mouth open in a silent scream as his orgasm wracked his body. The pulsing of his walls around Sherlock set him off. He came with a deep, low groan, his hips stuttering as the sensation washed over him.

He slid to the side, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him close. He pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, his arms tightening a fraction as they settled, breathing slowing after their exertion. John let out a soft sigh, settling into Sherlock’s hold as sleep took hold.


End file.
